THE FULL MOONS PART 2 MISSING DAY SEVEN
by Powermimicry
Summary: Cora is missing. The police are now involved. The rambling of a shoemaker.


**THE FULL MOONS PART 2. MISSING. DAY SEVEN**

The police had been at the hotel for over two hours.

Nowadays you don't have to wait 24 hours to report someone missing. Especially not in these circumstances.

They asked for a photo, if Cora had any friends or relatives here. They asked about the places she visited, if she had a medical condition. The worse part was they asked for a sample of her DNA. Eugenia handed over Cora's toothbrush, it took some letting go.

They took note of the last station she was seen at. They would talk to London transport police.

They informed a deflated Eugenia that Cora will be recorded as missing and details made available to other UK police forces within 48 hours.

On the way out they spoke in length to the receptionist about the withheld telephone number that Cora had phoned in on.

The thing is, all numbers on the network are available to network operators and the police can access them in time.

It won't be done or acted upon unless the police feel it is serious.

For Eugenia it was serious.

She felt responsible. The girls tried to reassure her and said they would go out and try to pick up a scent. Granny told them to wait until the police had an idea of which station she was last at. It made sense. She sent them back to their room. She needed time to fall apart so as to be strong again.

—-

Cora opened her eyes.

"What the...!"

She was on a floral bedspread and when she lifted her legs off down a chain rattled. A leg iron. The chain was affixed to a thick iron ring on the wall. Next to the bed was a dinner tray decorated with doilies and a single flower, there were sandwiches and a glass of milk. She could only get halfway across the small room.

A low amperage bulb burned. There were no windows. Only a bed, a cabinet and a chair, to Cora's horror, doubled as a commode.

She wished for her magic. Magic or not if she gets her hands around his throat she will choke the life out of him. Her anger raged. Cora pulled on the chains knowing they would not give. So. So what did he want?

"Omg, and he called me mother!".

—

It's for her own good. She is not a well woman. Why, I would never forgive myself if something happened to her outside. It's fitting that her end is approaching. Her shoes are nearly finished. I shall put her out of her misery, put an end to her emotional pain oh and year after year her deluded mind has sunk into the realms of cruelty, spite and murderous outbursts towards myself. She doesn't recognise herself anymore. The photos mean nothing to her. She barely knows me. It would be unkind to section her. They wouldn't take care of her like I have. No. This way is kinder. I wish she would stop shouting.

She has these phases. First the shouting, then the questions and finally the insults.

I don't like the shouting. It hurts my head. I will prepare another sleeping draft.

—

As he entered the room Cora slung the tray at him. It hit him square in the chest. The tea he was carrying splashed down his suit. He went for her and she grabbed his jacket and head butted him, he threw himself away from her, and sat just out of reach stunned. He crawled out muttering 'oh mother, mother, you hurt me' and shut the door. Cora laid on the bed. That didn't go to plan. Next time. If he gets too close she will gouge his eyes out. She was one majorly pissed off witch.

Sleep eventually took over, but with fits and starts. Every little sound got through, and she was aware of the tray being pushed on the floor halfway across the room. Yeah keep your distance sunshine. He obviously would drug her again, but the side effects from the first drug gave her an awful thirst. She would have to play this different. She couldn't keep being drugged.

She decided to work on the wall surrounding the iron ring. The chain would still be attached to her ankle but she could throttle the bastard with it.

So, he thinks I am his mother. Is there any leverage though.

—-

DI Harrison called them all together. They had spoken to a guard at the end of the line, Cora had been identified and also the guard had seen her talking to a man. The police had already put out a bulletin for the man to come forward and help with their inquiries.

They were also looking at cctv videos in the station and around the area.

Eugenia sensed this was something more. She pushed the DI to tell her.

In the past year 4 middle aged women in that part of London had gone missing. All turned up murdered. Eugenia lost colour. This can't be happening. This can't be connected.

The girls went to the end Station, and tried to find a scent. London is big crowded place and with many mixed smells. The fish, meat and vegetable markets, the cafes, restaurants, the drains, the rubbish, the fumes and least but not last, the most diverting, the smell of various leathers. They returned hours later exhausted.

—

DI Fiona Harrison. 45, single. A tall woman of strong stature and commanding personality. Not too popular with her colleagues as she kept her private life private and had a tendency to investigate over and above usually on her own. She was one strike away from being demoted. Fiona had a few ideas on leads but her departmental chief piled on, as what he saw as priority cases. She was short staffed so had to do most of the follow up herself. The folders piled on her desk. She was waiting for the phone company to get their act together. She desperately needed that number. Meanwhile she sorted through and found the ones she needed and went through the cases meticulously. 4 women this year alone. All had bruises of shackle marks on their ankles. All, bar one, who had been strangled, were poisoned,

Hemlock or Conium is a highly toxic flowering plant indigenous to Europe and South Africa. For an adult, the ingestion of 100mg of conium or about 8 leaves of the plant is fatal – death comes in the form of paralysis, your mind is wide awake, but your body doesn't respond and eventually the respiratory system shuts down. Not difficult to obtain. Nasty. Very nasty.

All of a certain age, certain build and colouring, well dressed. Two found with handmade shoes. Not that unusual except no label. The others presumably lost theirs in the Thames water. Little Jewellery. Contents of stomach mostly the same, cucumber and tuna sandwiches, milk.

The phone rung. It was Ms Lucas. She wanted to talk in person. Fiona made a decision to share what she had, it broke some rules but whoever is doing this needed to be stopped.

Eugenia Lucas was her answer, a woman with good instinct. With motive. Fiona knew she could trust her. Besides us lesbians need to stick together.


End file.
